


back to black

by ralf



Series: Close to Canon [20]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (a little bit), Angst, Episode Related, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Loss, Metaphors, Post-Episode: s03e10 Erchomai, Unreliable Narrator, i hate that tag but claiming it's a happy ending is stretching it too far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 23:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16649833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralf/pseuds/ralf
Summary: The nail polish needs to go.[Set very shortly after 3x10.]





	back to black

**Author's Note:**

> i only have [myself](https://ralfstrashcan.tumblr.com/post/179864426489/if-that-scene-from-the-malec-sneak-peek-is-set) to blame for this.

The sound of water rushing in the sink is almost loud enough to drown out his thoughts. It's a losing battle though, when he's still scraping the remnants of Alec's blood from his hands, scratching at his skin to get every last flake off. His fingers have grown red under the hot stream, making it hard to tell if there are still traces left, and every time he turns his hand and catches sight of his dark nail polish he flinches and sees blood gushing through his fingers, hears Alec's panting breaths and feels his weakening heartbeat. Cat's reassurances that Alec will be fine and just needs to sleep it off are all for nothing if he keeps reliving the worst moment of his life every time he catches sight of his fingers.

The nail polish needs to go.

Magnus focuses on the gleaming black and wills it away. Nothing happens.

Oh. Right.

He keeps forgetting. For seconds on end, sometimes even for a whole minute. Every time muscle memory kicks in and he calls for the spark inside him he's reminded of his loss, too fresh and too visceral to have sunken in yet. Irreversible.

 _Magic isn't the only way to get rid of nail polish_ , Magnus thinks viciously. Mundanes do it all the time, and they don't have magic to speed up the process. All he needs is a little nail polish remover and he's set.

He turns to one of the bathroom cabinets and starts rifting through it. There's tons of tubes and jars, cremes, lotions, poultices, a lot of nail polish bottles and the ingredients he needs for his shampoo. Magnus is a little overwhelmed by the sheer mass of it.

He can't remember the last time he opened this cupboard instead of just summoning what he wanted and then magicking it back. He can't remember the last time he even removed his nail polish manually. He's used to just vanishing it away with magic.

It dawns on him that he won't find anything, but he can't stop looking. At the end of his search lies only the realization that he's helpless now, to get even the easiest task done. Without magic he's nothing.

Magnus grits his teeth and slams the cabinet door shut. No. He didn't come this far, he didn't survive wars and centuries of persecution to be defeated by _nail polish_.

And if he has to resort to scratching and biting, if this is his life now, then so be it. He refuses to back down. That has never been his style.

Chipping away at the black paint he can almost convince himself that he's really proving a point with this. That this is more than the desperation of a man who has lost himself.

It's a slow process. More than once he inadvertently catches the delicate skin around his nails, but he won't be deterred. It's him or the nail polish, and he will win.

It hurts. The pressure on his fingertips hurts. It's not long before he nicks the skin of his nail bed. There's blood. Black flakes cover his fingers and stain the sink and the floor.

But he can't stop. Little by little the unmarked nail resurfaces. It's scuffed, spotty. It's not pretty like it used to be. Like him then.

He hears soft footsteps and Catarina appears in the doorway. In less than a second she takes in the state of his fingers and his mind, and her mouth barely opens with a question before she closes it again. She knows he'll reject her offer to do it for him, because she knows _him_. She learned how to see through his defenses centuries ago. It's too much.

“I can do this,” he huffs, picking emphatically at his thumb, evading her eyes.

“I know that,” she says, voice slow and unyielding. Between one blink and the next a bottle of nail polish remover and a package of wipes appears next to him on the sink. Startled he looks back at her.

Her gaze is heavy with his pain, sharing his anguish but lessening none of the weight that's crushing him to the ground. “But do _you?_ ”

Magnus closes his eyes and turns his back to her. Too much, too much.

Since his magic was stripped he's been feeling vulnerable, naked, like a snail that was ripped out of the familiar security of its shell. Defenseless, weak, squished at a careless moment's notice. He can't be vulnerable in this way too, not yet. He needs to reconstruct some walls, needs a corner to settle back into himself, gain some semblance of control before he can stand to face anyone.

“I will,” he says, hollowly, a lie he hopes he'll start believing with time.

Catarina doesn't sigh, but he hears her resignation loud and clear. He's never managed to fool her. And yet he tries, every time.

“Until then you know where to find me.”

She leaves before he can answer, which is just as well. He wouldn't have known what to say anyway.

He waits to feel her leave the confines of his wards until he remembers that he can't anymore, and that his wards have dispersed into nothingness.

Magnus grants himself three deep breaths to fight back the hot tears gathering in his eyes before turning back to the sink and grabbing one of the cotton swabs.

There's still a lot of work left to do.

 

 


End file.
